Emily (part 2.2)
From the outreach of my hand
I can feel you
From my eyes I want to
Bewitch you
From look in my eye I want you
Only because I fell
In love with you
From the shore of the Atlantic
To shore of Lake Erie
I row a boat to get you
Take you in my arms
Kiss you until you cry out
Love me
The sky opens up with the sun
It time for us to have some fun
Walking the beach
Snuggles under cover
Swimming nude together
Living a loving life
Got you under my skin
You let me in
Every so softly I sung
From East Coast to the west Coast
My find will outdo the rest
She has beauty from out and in
Love the feeling of her skin
We kiss and hug and love
she is my lady
Emily
Never let a good day go astray
by brooding over a bad yesterday.
Relax, go with the flow
and learn to just let it go.
What others think of you is none of your business,
though it helps you understand the value of forgiveness.
Don't worry about those who are quick to condemn.
The best thing to do is to simply ignore them.
We can never predict misfortune
or the adversity that life can bring.
So, it's best to have patience. Give it time,
because time heals almost everything.
Be sure to pay attention,
be vigilant and aware
that those who are unhappy
are those who want to compare.
Don't be easily lured
into feelings of dismay.
The only person you should try to outdo
is the person you were yesterday.
It's okay to have doubt
and not have things figured out.
Relax, stay calm, take care,
and know that, in time, you'll get there.
Yes, life can be full of slings and arrows
and overall "crappiness".
Just remember it's on you:
only you are in charge of your happiness.
Life is short. We're only here for awhile.
Enjoy it while you have it, and don't forget to smile!
Proud poets parade playful wordy wit,
Their careful craft becomes just diddly s..t.
No matter how hard we may try
Can’t outdo IQ of AI.
Shall we hoist the white flag and run with it?!
Digital era deemed undignified,
As bright grey matter becomes atrophied.
Before the mindset goes awry,
We shall eschew diddly AI -
Its fatuous facade is dead inside!
the machine talks when the mind is mute-so let creativity shine
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**the ai machine eliminates imagination; it cannot replicate the feelings, emotion and soul that goes into writing poetry.
Being old school, I write to the best of my ability instead of trying to improve it by other means- or trying to outdo another writer if I think my work is inferior to theirs. To remain honest and true to myself is the best accolade.
“A crimson sky breaks the distant shore”-
a perfect picture view that seems unreal;
the red and golden highlights underscore
God's beautiful and mystical reveal.
The water's edge reflects this lovely scene-
a double gift that soothes my tired soul
with rhythm in the ripples- and between,
the shimmering whitecaps complete His goal.
Such peaceful moments are the awesome prize
to grant me pleasure at this long day's end;
with artistry before these sleepy eyes
on God's amazing nature- I attend.
Oh, crimson sky, I'm lost in your sweet peace
no artist can outdo this work of art.
My thankfulness for beauty, I release
as your amazing canvas warms my heart.
Let your adornment not be external
our crowning glory must never be camouflage
Into the hearts of dupe believer's cultures
Did the holy wreath hurt as much as my broken heart?
A shrike can outdo the Pied Piper's bewitching flute anytime
Safeguard our hearts from these foolish acts of men
Let your adornment not be external,
purge out the evil within their soul: saying I love you is unrealistic.
They do not see me,
only numbers,
a mind wrapped in accolades,
a vessel of knowledge,
but never a soul.
What I do beyond the classroom
is dust in the wind,
unnoticed, unworthy,
a shadow cast by my own intellect.
My mind,
a magnet for praise,
a curse to myself.
neglect my suffering,
worship my GPA.
Scorn my exhaustion,
demand I excel.
Work. Work. Work. Work.
Run faster, push harder,
outshine the one behind,
outdo the one ahead.
Break the cycle.
Be first.
Full ride, perfect score,
rewrite the past in brighter ink.
Don’t be her. Be better.
Don’t compare. But compare.
Lead, but follow.
Stand out, but fit in.
A never-ending tug-of-war,
and when the rope snaps,
I stand alone.
Dangling between purpose and place,
the misplaced piece in a puzzle
that never had a space for me.
In a world of patterns,
I am the outlier, the inconsistency,
the contradiction wrapped in expectation.
My mind—a battlefield,
truth and acceptance at war,
the lines blurred,
the victor unknown.
All I know is that each battle
leaves me emptier
than the last.
Holiday recipes created by others
Christmas dishes decorated in festive colors
Laden with sugar and salt sweet and sour
Where is my long-gone missing will power?
Any dieting I did before I left at the moors
When families meet, my appetite soars
Fattening foods and decorated tables outdo each other
An amusement for a professional cook, my grandmother
crows began flying in like cloak-laden witches
landing on the Iowa scarecrow with the rotten head
they were picking at it now, eating out the pulp
laughing at it, making that evil caw sound they do
it seems macabre one said, and they all laughed
feeling like Poe’s raven, only brighter and smarter.
hoping someone would write a poem about them.
wondering if they could outdo the raven’s fame.
Pointy, the pig rider came around the corner with a screech.
He was sitting at the top of the zebra bowls, his whip was a reach.
Why does he always have to outdo the rest of us? Asked Mr. Mace.
Angry now because Poindy and the bowls were winning the race.
I do not know what normal looks like on grandparents
I have the ice cream social sugar cream pink peach ones
And I have the orange striped circus leopard grandparents
Today my ice cream social grandparents visited my birthday party
I thought your other grandparents were weird until now Kathy said.
Thank you! I replied, glad she realizes now these outdo the others.
As the cycles of night and day renew,
a rising sun inks ebony skies blue.
And crystal drops of misty morning dew
sparkle like diamonds, as Dawn's light breaks through.
While the horizon bleeds a blood-red hue,
Night's twinkling stars disappear, right on cue.
And an owl breaks the silence with a "whoo,"
as shifting silhouettes come into view.
And a rooster crows cock-a-doodle-doo,
announcing Sol's spectacular debut.
Sleeping songbirds wake, to bid Night adieu;
basking in sunlight, as they're known to do.
Colored clouds absorb tints like a tissue,
held aloft with an invisible glue.
Nature's artwork, no artist can outdo:
for inspiration; it's Her; they turn to.
Critics Beware!
Poets are vulnerable no less than anyone,
when fallen victim to outrageous critics.
As Shelley wrote, critics' darts struck Keats,
who blindly, cruelly, mocked 'Endymion.'
Lethal no less the heady potion fame.
Some drowned, took poison, died paupers or insane.
Yet poet-baiters must themselves take warning,
wrote Heine in his 'Winter Fairy Tale.'
Eternal lines, if barbed, outdo Hell's fierce burning.
'Time shall not heal when poets wield the flail.'
Our foes, wrote Paul, are not of flesh and blood
but powers of evil inhabiting high places.
Promethean fire consumes the evil and the good,
Iniquities have many masks and faces.
Alone the Word that spares the infant's life
to wrong proves mightier than every art of strife.
If I had wings I'd outdo unfortunate Icarus
and soar up to the highest stratosphere.
Buoyant, I'd defy gravity and glide
over the loftiest snow tipped mountains,
or slide headfirst towards some deep vale
where iridescent meadows stretch into verdant pastures
where myriads of healthy cattle graze, placidly, alone.
If I had wings I'd play with high white clouds,
or scatter misty fluffy cumulus from over the fields
or cause precipitation to make our produce grow
in our windswept lush and fertile heartland.
Should I forget the poorer drought struck lands?
You know that I would not, not me.
If I had wings I would delight in competing
with all the various winds, and fly quiescent
savoring the multitudinous scents that emanate
from all the lovely flowers and all the well kept lakes.
But alas I have no wings and as I look up
and see the birds flying free, I feel it would have been
a better deal, if God had given me a pair of wings.
I take you with me where I go
Your carriage is my heart aglow
You ride inside in comfy rooms
My love and my affection blooms
I take you out when I arrive
When I'm with you I come alive
Your troubadour, the red guitar
Wants his bluebird near, not far
I've loved you now for many years
I knew I did I just denied
That it was real, I had my fears
But kept them tucked away inside
I don't deny it anymore
I just enjoy the fact it's you
Who has become my treasure store
A jewel whom no one can outdo
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